


Hands of Silver, Hands of Gold

by Dolorosa



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake Marriage, Post-Canon, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 15:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19065895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/pseuds/Dolorosa
Summary: Nikolai and Alina go undercover as a married couple in Ketterdam.This fic takes place after the events of the Grisha Trilogy, but diverges slightly from canon. Alina still has her Grisha powers.





	Hands of Silver, Hands of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giallos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giallos/gifts).



'This is hopeless,' Alina said, weaving her way through throngs of people, trying to keep the stress and exasperation from her voice. 'We're never going to find her here — in fact, we'll be lucky to make it out of this crowd without losing each other, never mind tracking down a lost spy neither of us have even met before!'

Nikolai elbowed a group of Kerch youths out of the way, ignoring their outraged shouts, and pushed a path forwards until he drew level with Alina. 'There's one way we can ensure we don't get lost,' he said, 'and it would reinforce our cover.'

He took Alina's hand. She tried her hardest not to respond to the touch, to maintain the illusion that they had agreed on all those weeks ago back in Ravka, that they were a happily married couple on a pleasure trip to the Kerch capital, but she couldn't help herself from reacting slightly, and wondered if Nikolai had noticed. Back home, it had seemed an easy thing to agree to — hide their true identities as sovereign and Sun Summoner on an undercover mission to Ketterdam — but now, with her hand in his, hemmed in by what seemed like an endless crowd, she wondered if it had been the most sensible decision.

They were in Ketterdam to try to track down a wayward Ravkan spy. Nina Zenik, who had left Ravka in the chaotic years before the war, when Nikolai's father was still sovereign, had been a reliable source of information about Kerch affairs, sending back regular reports and maintaining a good network of informants among the Ravkan refugee community. And then suddenly the reports had dried up, and Nina went silent. It was as if the faraway city had swallowed her whole. At first they had assumed she was dead, but then fragmentary accounts that suggested she was very much alive had started to trickle in to the Ravkan court, a matter of concern enough to justify Nikolai and Alina travelling to Ketterdam together to find out what was going on. It had been felt that they would be more likely to succeed if they left their own identities behind in Ravka, and so Alexey and Anya, newlyweds with a passion for adventure, spending money, and the various vices of Kerch's mercenary capital, were born. The pretense was meant to get them into the seedy gambling dens, drinking houses, and gang hideaways that festered in dark corners of Ketterdam, and lead them eventually to Nina. So far, however, it had lost them an eye-watering amount of money at the card table, given Nikolai a crushing hangover when he tried to match a burly Kerch dockworker drink for drink while subtly questioning him about the gangs operating in the city, forced them to awkwardly share a bed in their guesthouse, and now appeared to have got them lost in a crowd. And they had only been in the city for two days.

'This isn't working,' said Alina, giving up entirely. She dragged Nikolai sideways until they were on the very edge of the crowd. 'We need to find somewhere inside where we can sit and wait until it gets a bit later in the evening and there are fewer people out on the streets. We can go to that Ravkan drinking-house later.'

Nikolai nodded. 'What do you suggest?'

'It would help if all these tiny alleyways and canals didn't look the same!' said Alina in irritation. 'I was thinking of going back to that little cafe selling waffles near our guesthouse. At least then we could eat while we waited.'

Nikolai's eyes lit up. 'Oh, my clever wife, that's a wonderful suggestion! If there's one thing that shouldn't be hard to find in Ketterdam it's a place to eat waffles! Let's just pick a street at random and eat the first waffles we find.'

Alina, who would have preferred to retrace their steps and seek refuge in the familiar, forced herself to do what the fun-loving, spontaneous Anya would do, and followed Nikolai with resignation into the maze of Ketterdam streets.

*

Several hours later, when the sun was low in the sky, they tried again. Nikolai, with that easy charm of his that made him comfortable striking up conversations with complete strangers, had managed to wheedle the address of a bar popular with Ravkan refugees out of one of the patrons in the waffle house, while Alina sat, surly, in a corner, drinking milky coffee and keeping an eye on the door. She always ate with her back to the wall, these days.

The Ravkan bar was nondescript, scarcely more than a dingy little room, badly lit. Considering the hour — scarcely past early evening — Alina thought it was crowded, but perhaps Ravkan refugees in Ketterdam didn't have anywhere better to be. She cast her eyes around the room, but didn't see anyone who matched Nina Zenik's description.

Nikolai strode up to the bar, swaggering and strutting, and clearly delighting in the role of the extravagant, blustering tourist he was playing.

'I'd like a glass of the most popular local Kerch beer,' he declared loudly, his voice carrying throughout the bar, 'and a mug of _kvas_ for my lovely wife, who isn't so keen to sample to the local delicacies.' He gestured at Alina, his expression the perfect blend of doting and deprecating, and something caught in her throat. With great difficulty she suppressed the thought that had come unbidden to her mind: what would it be like if Nikolai had cause to look at her like that not as part of an act, but in reality?

Five hours, and several rounds of drinks bought for the Ravkans clustered around the bar later, and Nikolai had drawn an appreciative crowd. At first the refugees had hung back, uncertain about speaking to a pair of Ravkans who had so clearly remained behind in their home country when they had fled, but Nikolai's extravagance and wide-eyed innocent act had disarmed them, and the alcohol had loosened their tongues. 

'It's the gangs that run things here,' an older man called Yuri, whom Alina suspected was hiding his Grisha abilities from his companions, complained bitterly. 'I've been in this cursed, mercenary city for eight years, and if there's one thing I've learnt it's that the Kerch worship money, the more illegally obtained the better. Oh, they have a veneer of piety about legitimate business, but scratch the surface of any respectable Ketterdam mercher, and you'll find a seedy network of gangs behind him.'

The man sitting next to Yuri nodded grimly. 'When I first came to Ketterdam, the only way I could get work was with the gangs. No legal business wanted to employ Ravkans, and I had to earn a living. The gangs had me guarding warehouses — boring work, and I didn't ask too many questions about what I was guarding, but at least they paid me on time. At first I hated it, but after a while I got used to how things work here, and now I can't imagine leaving. You back in Ravka call us refugees, but a lot of us no longer look back to Ravka and yearn to return. I woke up one morning and realised that Ketterdam was home, gangs and all.'

'These gangs,' said Nikolai, in a tone of innocent curiosity, 'you mean to say that these gangs actually _employ_ most of the Ravkans here in Ketterdam? Even those with Grisha powers?'

'Especially those with Grisha powers,' said Yuri. 'Think of all the uses to which such abilities can be put — altering people's appearances so that they look like the men supposed to be guarding a bank vault, calling up a storm so that it destroys a rival gang's badly stored stash or rickety canal boats, or even just being a more powerful pair of hands in a fight. They love having Grisha in their gangs.'

'So that's what Grisha are in the gangs — just extra muscle? Surely with their powers they'd be able to rise to the top of the gang hierarchy,' said Nikolai, signalling for another round of drinks.

'Not any Grisha that I know,' said Yuri's companion. 'No, hang on, that's not true. There was that girl, Nina. Used to hang around refugee bars and cafes a lot when she first showed up here, but then it was as if she vanished. I thought she might've been killed — yet another victim of this Saints-forsaken city — but then the next thing I heard, she'd been running around with the Dregs. Brekker and his crew.

'You don't mess with Kaz Brekker,' said Yuri, his lecturing tone slightly undercut by the fact that he'd drunk six glasses of the strong Kerch beer in less than three hours. 'He's Barrel-born, one of those terrifying young men who managed to claw their way to the top of this vicious, violent city. A few years back, he started gathering teenagers as unscrupulous as he was. Rumour was he wanted to pull off some utterly impossible heist, and everyone just rolled their eyes, convinced it was the usual Barrel boy bluster. And the next thing I knew, Nina was working with him — not low-level muscle work, but as one of the leading forces in Brekker's gang. She stopped coming around to Ravkan haunts after that.'

'This Brekker,' said Nikolai, taking care to keep his tone light, 'is he still around in Ketterdam? My wife and I are keen to get a truly authentic Kerch experience while we're in these parts — and what could be more authentic than drinking with a genuine Barrel gang? It sounds like Brekker and his Dregs would be perfect.'

Alina tried to keep her face from betraying her horror — surely these Ravkans wouldn't fall for Nikolai's rather obvious ploy, no matter how much liquor they had drunk? His sheer, brazen recklessness would see them exposed, and she'd be forced to use her powers to get them out of the bar in once piece! She could feel her panic rising.

'Do you have a death wish? You tourists are ridiculous! You don't want to seek out Kaz Brekker — he and his gang would eat you and your innocent little wife alive!' Yuri slammed his empty beer glass on the bar for emphasis, the cluster of men around him nodding their agreement.

'Ah, you're probably right,' said Nikolai. 'It's all just so ... so seedy and exotic. I got carried away.'

A dishevelled-looking group of musicians had struck up a tune in the corner, and, to Alina's astonishment, many of the drinkers propping up the bar drifted over to dance. The music was Ravkan, the song sentimental, and clearly popular with the crowd. Alina felt Nikolai's hand on her elbow.

'Shall we dance, my love?' he asked.

Alina's eyes were wide with shock, as Nikolai bent his head to murmur in her ear.

'I can tell that you want to make a swift retreat, but we need to keep up the pretense that we're just here for a bit of exotic Ketterdam nightlife, and dancing will give us a way to move apart from Yuri and the others, and prevent them from asking awkward questions. You do know how to dance, don't you? At some point between leaving that miserable orphanage in which you grew up, and fighting for your life and the survival of my kingdom, someone must have taught you to dance?'

He didn't give Alina a chance to answer, simply moved towards the musicians, his feet light on the grimy floor, and she was forced to follow.

The song was a slow and plaintive one, drifting around the bar with haunting tones, and combined with the flickering candles gave the place a feeling of yearning and melancholy. Without really knowing what she was doing, Alina took Nikolai's hands. He pulled her closer.

She tried to relax, and let herself move with the music, copying the swaying motions of the other patrons around her, but all she could think of was how aware she was of Nikolai's body and closeness, her head against his shoulder, her fingers twined in his. He was so frustratingly changeable — one minute charming and loquacious, drawing crowds of people to him until they revealed their secrets, the next moment content to dance in silence, his breath whispering against her hair. She tried not to acknowledge the direction her thoughts had turned, or the way her body pressed against Nikolai's, or the feeling of his hand in her own. The music howled and swelled, and Alina moved with it, her face golden in the faint candlelight, enclosed in the circle of Nikolai's arms.

*

On their third night in Ketterdam, Alina and Nikolai found themselves losing badly at cards in yet another gaudy, seedy gambling den. Somehow, in the time between dancing with the Ravkan refugees and waking up Alina with a cup of bitter coffee the next day, Nikolai had managed to ferret out the address of a gaming house controlled by the infamous Kaz Brekker, and had decided that the best course of action was to show up, play the innocent tourists ripe for fleecing, and try to tempt the elusive Nina Zenik into making an appearance. At least losing money in hand after hand of cards was deliberate — or rather, Alina hoped it was deliberate.

Nikolai's opponent was an alarming-looking Zemeni teenager, flamboyantly dressed and with a pair of duelling pistols prominently displayed at his hips. He had kept up a steady stream of conversation, challenging even Nikolai for unending eloquence. If the mission hadn't been so important, Alina would have found it amusing.

She had spent the night sitting back, sipping occasionally from a glass of some kind of Kerch spirits with a name she couldn't pronounce, keeping a watchful eye on proceedings. The den was a busy one, with lots of games going on throughout the room, and a handful of younger teenagers circulating the room with drinks. She had been surprised to note that unlike every other Ketterdam establishment she'd been in so far, Brekker's gambling house appeared not to employ pretty young women to distract patrons by enduring their sleazy harassment. If this was a deliberate choice, it raised Brekker and his Dregs slightly higher in Alina's estimation.

She felt that Nikolai had maintained the act well — rueful grins when he lost each hand and parted with yet more money, gracefully allowing himself to be persuaded to remain at the table by his opponent. His ability to disappear into a role — into an entirely different personality — unnerved her, even as she was grateful for how helpful it was in missions such as these. It made it difficult for her to figure out her own tangled nest of feelings. She tried to wrench her thoughts back to the situation at hand, and focus on what was happening in the room.

And suddenly, the mood around the tables seemed to shift, imperceptibly. Alina noticed a number of games winding down, their participants being subtly ushered away, downing drinks reluctantly and making their way out the door. Nikolai, on the other hand, was being allowed to continue, with an attendant drink-server hovering around with a tray of glasses. Alina strained her eyes, and thought she noticed Nikolai's opponent making some kind of signal to another young man lurking in the corner, almost part of the shadows. His sharp haircut and angular cheekbones made him look lean and angry — there was no softness in him. He moved towards the centre of the room, his gloved hands resting on an ornate cane that seemed both weapon and walking aid.

Was this the vicious Kaz Brekker, making an appearance at last? Alina didn't wait to find out, but rushed over to Nikolai's table, power crackling in her raised hands. Nikolai's opponent at cards seemed to recognise what this meant, and drew his pistols, and a tense little standoff ensued.

The man — no, teenager — with the cane spoke up, in accented but comprehensible Ravkan.

'Don't try to deny that you're Nikolai Lantsov, here in my city to track down your missing Grisha spy. I could have spared you a lot of money if you'd come here your first day: Nina doesn't want to be found, and she certainly doesn't want to return with you.'

'How do we know you're telling the truth?' demanded Alina, her fingers itching to combat the threat to Nikolai, her body slightly overwhelmed by how quickly that rush of dark power had filled her at the slightest hint of danger.

Nikolai made a placating gesture. 'They told me you weren't one to be messed with — I assume I have the pleasure of dealing with Kaz Brekker, empire-building gang leader, on his home territory?'

The Zemeni card player laid his pistols on the table. 'Look,' he said in Kerch, 'we really don't want any trouble, and we have zero interest in Ravkan politics. But Nina is one of us now, just one more misfit in Kaz's little gang. We're all people who don't ... don't _fit_ , for whatever reason. But whatever brought us here, we changed too much — Ketterdam changed us too much — for us to return to where we came from.'

Nikolai raised his eyebrows, but translated for Alina. She struggled to comprehend his words — this Nina was supposed to be a Ravkan operative, a powerful Grisha. How could she possibly give all that up — abandon all sense of duty and responsibility — for the dubious pleasures of a life in exile in a Ketterdam gang?

'You realise it's difficult for us to simply take you at your word?' said Nikolai, softly. 'Nina's last report — admittedly sent some time ago — gave no indication she was feeling this way.'

'Six months ago,' said Kaz, his hands gripping the cane, 'I would have just told you to live with disappointment. But I'm trying to be a better person — to let a few cracks show in the armour —' and here he chuckled, as if in response to a private joke. 'So,' he continued, 'while I cannot produce Nina to explain herself to your satisfaction, as she is away from Ketterdam on Dregs business, I am asking you to believe what I'm saying. This city has a way of transforming you, forging you into something hard and shiny and gilded. It burns the righteousness and patriotism away. It becomes a home for the homeless, the ignored and forgotten.'

'Nina will not come back with you,' said the Zemeni card player. 'She's like all of us: the closest thing to a true Ketterdam native, at home in the grime and glitz and grey areas.'

Nikolai placed a hand on Alina's shoulder, calling her off, calming her down.

'We're not normally the type to give up,' he said, 'but I suppose we shall have to take your word for it. Saints above know I can understand disappearing into a role until it becomes its own kind of truth. Well, if Nina really doesn't want to return to Ravka we have made a truly wasted journey. I guess there's nothing for it but to spend our last night here — tomorrow — sampling the best this city has to offer like the tourists we've been pretending to be.'

'I recommend sticking around tomorrow. It's the Festival of Masks and Candles — a big street party, everyone wearing masks, drinking and singing on canal barges and all that. It's not really my scene, but the tourists love it. And I can get you a very good deal at a mask-maker's that just so happens to pay protection money to my gang,' said Kaz, a glint in his eyes.

Alina didn't know whether to roll her eyes or applaud Kaz Brekker for his brazen opportunism, but she could tell already that she would be revelling in the mask-wearing throng the next evening.

*

Given her previous irritation with Ketterdam crowds, Alina thought she'd shown genuine heroism in joining Nikolai for the festival, her face hidden behind a golden mask evoking the glittering sun. The narrow streets were choked with revellers, singing and dancing in chaotic abandon as they made their way past stalls selling warm spiced drinks, roast chestnuts, and waffles drenched in butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. Everyone carried candles, and the light danced alarmingly, illuminating their masks which ranged from the delicate to the grotesque. Snatches of song floated up from the canals, which were packed with barges. Occasionally an overenthusiastic festival-goer let off fireworks, adding to the noisy chaos of the celebrations.

Nikolai's genuine enthusiasm was infectious. His eyes sparkled behind the pirate mask he'd chosen, and everything — from the raucous children weaving about underfoot, their hands sticky with waffles and jam, to the drunken pair of elderly Kerch men singing a sentimental song at the foot of a canal bridge — seemed to give him joy, as if the entire celebration had been put on for his benefit. His hand in Alina's was steady as they wove their way through the throng.

And Alina realised she needed a different kind of courage.

She drew Nikolai forward, through a knot of shrieking festival-goers handing out bags of chestnuts, past a pair of small boys trying to sell discarded candle stubs for money, and away from the hubbub of the crowd. The patch of space she'd identified, overlooking a narrow canal, was relatively empty, a pocket of calm set apart from the noise and revelry. People had been depositing their lit, unwanted candles along the canal wall, leaving them to burn themselves out against the inky black of the water. Alina took the candle from Nikolai's hand, placing it beside her own as she added them to the collection. And then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed the masks from their faces.

For a moment they stood there, paused as if frozen in time. And she didn't seem to move, and he didn't seem to move, but all of a sudden they were clinging to each other, kissing as if their lives depended on it. Alina's hands were tangled in Nikolai's hair, pulling his head downwards to reach her own, oblivious to everything but the curve of his arms around her and the beat of his heart against her own.

'Well,' said Nikolai, pausing to breathe at last, 'I suppose this trip to Ketterdam wasn't an entirely wasted journey.'

Alina pulled him closer, draping his arm around her shoulders, and they stood there for a moment, sovereign and living saint, unmasked, their faces illuminated by the light of a thousand glittering candles.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is taken from the song 'Pharaohs & Pyramids' by Cut Copy.


End file.
